Take The Long Way Home
by monthefratellis
Summary: "The thing is ... if you just do stuff, and nothing happens ... what's it all mean? What's the point?" Takes place nine years after Heisenberg.


I own neither Teen Titans, nor Breaking Bad.

...

Dig Two Graves

"How are his vitals looking?" Robin began, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder, before returning to his coffee. The door_whooshed_ closed behind Cyborg as he entered the crime lab, where Robin stood hunched over the center table. Scattered haphazardly across the table were various file folders and loose documents and photographs. A large map of the United States hung on the wall across the room, folded to show the western half, several thumbtacks plotted along linearly from Albuquerque, New Mexico all the way to Jump City, California. Alongside it, on another cork board, were dozens of mug shots, a spider web of red twine crisscrossing it, connecting faces to faces. Set in the middlemost space between the rows, the seat of honor, was a formerly blank sheet of paper, upon which an embellished question mark had apparently been doodled at some point in the last fifteen minutes. Cyborg spoke, his human eye briefly wandering to the heavy, black duffel bag in the corner.

"Good," he answered, before quickly adding, "-for a guy that just had a building dropped on him." Robin, now finished with his brief pull of coffee, set down the mug, which read_Crimefighters Do It All Over The City_.

"Remind me not to play Jenga with the guy," Robin said, absentmindedly thumbing open a manila folder stamped with the insignia of the Jump City Police Department. Cyborg smirked.

"Well, until he finally comes to, that point's kinda moot, Rob."

"You administered the sedative like I asked?"

"Yup." Cyborg let his gaze linger on the mug shots across the room for a moment, before speaking again, wary. "If you really think this guy's bad news, I can make sure he wakes up cuffed to his hospital bed."

"I doubt a pair of handcuffs would do anything to stop him, Cy."

"You know what I mean, Robin."

"And you know I wouldn't make a call I felt would endanger the team. If I felt this guy was bad news, he'd already be in a cell. Never mind in the Tower with us." Cyborg knew Robin. He respected his leadership. If he felt their guest's presence in the team's med-bay wasn't a threat to the group, then Cyborg would too. Still, all the evidence before him, the map, the mug shots, and particularly the duffel bag seemed to paint a different picture.

"I trust you, Rob. But, I think you must be seeing something I'm not seeing."

"Some new information came to light in the past hour or so. I think I've put the pieces together."

"Humor me?" Cyborg asked, knowing he had just sprung Robin's obvious trap, the junior detective eager to show his work. Robin smiled, beckoning Cyborg over to the map.

"Look here," Robin grunted, placing his finger on a thumbtack. "Albuquerque, New Mexico, six weeks ago. Hand me that top folder over there, will you?" Cyborg complied, passing the young man a particularly meaty file. Robin flicked it open to a spot he had dog-eared with a paper clip. "Police report indicates a drug deal gone bad. Nearly twenty people arrested. Of those twenty, detectives managed to get three to talk. All three described a metahuman crashing the deal. One with electricity-based powers. 'Oh, what's that, Robin? The guy in our med-bay has electricity-based powers?'" The mechanical teen fought back a smile at Robin's best Cyborg impersonation. "Still, could be a coincidence. Stick a pin in that for now. Going back to the deal gone bad, here's the kicker: the drugs were destroyed on-site. The money? Gone." Cyborg nodded, crossing his bulky arms over his chest. "What conclusions might we draw from that?" _Now it's getting interesting_, Cyborg thought. He figured Robin wanted to hear him jump to the same conclusion he had.

"Smash and grab. Looks like our boy pulled a Steve Miller." Robin arched his brow, bringing his coffee mug to his lips. "Y'know. Take the money and run." The words having left his lips, Robin fought back a snort as he finished the last of his drink, setting it down.

"Alright, so if it's money our guy's after, why not take the drugs with him?"

"Well, it's simple. The product doesn't move itself. Without the right distribution network, all you have is a liability. Sure, you _could_ sell it all off piecemeal, but that's a giant headache. Our boy-the culprit, I mean-must've been looking for a quick buck."

"So, why destroy the drugs before leaving?"

"Huh. Maybe he-it is a he, right, in those reports?" Robin nodded. "Alright, maybe he's on the payroll of a rival operation. Sending a message? If he's a solo act, maybe he felt he was just doing his civic duty. Y'know, ignoring the part where he ripped off a drug deal."

"Doesn't exactly scream 'heroic' does it?" Robin mused.

"So, we've got the guy, right? I mean, we've got the smoking gun …" Cyborg pointed to the duffel bag in the corner.

"We've got the guy, but we don't have the entire picture," the junior detective said cryptically. Cyborg sighed. Sensing his teammate's frustration, Robin made an effort to clean off the table, stacking most of the documents tidily in the corner. He then walked over to the bag, shouldered it, then set it down on the table. He unzipped it, tugging the flaps open as wide as he could. He reached his hand in, producing a neat stack of bills, tied off with a rubber band. He set the first stack down before retrieving another, then another, and before long, a pyramid of 14 stacks emerged before Cyborg's eyes.

"That's a lot of money," Cyborg mumbled blankly, stating the obvious. Robin seemed unfazed.

"Here's where things get even more interesting. I don't think this money's from the Albuquerque job." The mechanical teen's eyes began to race with possibilities.

"What're you saying, Rob?" The leader waved his hand, drawing Cyborg's eye to the line of thumbtacks dotting the map. Cyborg wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"Our guy's been busy, Cy. Looking at all these incidents chronologically, he's been heading north. And they all follow Albuquerque's example. Our guy seems to have a knack for raiding these drug deals. In two instances, it looks like he's even managed to completely destroy the local productions by hitting their cook labs. Looking at both police and DEA reports, a lot of money has gone missing. More than you could hope to stuff in this bag," Robin motioned with his eyes. "More than you could stuff into ten bags."

"So, you're saying there's a mattress somewhere with hundreds bursting out of it?" Robin smiled, Cyborg thinking he'd evidently reached the point in the conversation where Robin would lay all his cards down on the table.

"I thought that, too. Until I started looking at some seemingly unrelated reports. Starting back at Albuquerque, shortly after the party-crashing, a bag of money mysteriously ended up at the front door of a local orphanage. In fact, following the trail north, all the way to Jump City, these mysterious bags of cash have been turning up all over the place. Orphanages. Homeless shelters. Churches. Places like that."

"You're telling me our guest is none other than Robin … _Hood_?"

"His driver's license says otherwise. Besides, I can't imagine how you guys could survive with two Robins under the same roof. " Cyborg shuddered, entertaining the thought briefly.

"So, what happens now, Rob?"

"I think we can use him."

"Use him? You mean … "

"Yeah, Cy, I do. I'm going to make him an official, card-carrying titan."

"Robin, I …" Cyborg started, trailing off. "I mean, you haven't even told me the guy's name yet." Robin cocked his head to the side, before reaching for another folder and cracking it open. It was purely for show, Cyborg knew, the junior detective having already committed his name to memory.

"_Brock Cantillo_."

"Okay," Cyborg said simply after a few moments, pacing around the room. "So, give me the sales pitch on Brock."

"Excuse me?"

"You're gonna have to pitch this to the rest of the team. You might as well run it by me, first. That way I can help you sell it." Robin smiled. His mouth twitched for a moment, as if he had attempted to say _thanks_, but quickly decided against it.

"Alright. So, what do we know about this guy? Superficially? Big time Robin Hood complex. Maybe he does it a little _nontraditionally_, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I think his heart's in the right place."

"You've got me so far."

"Okay, so follow me. Based on these reports, we know Brock is capable. In a six week span, his raids have led to arrests in the triple digits. He's shutting down entire operations by himself. And furthermore, the fact that he's managed to successfully to track, infiltrate, and eliminate these groups shows he's got a good head on his shoulders. Finally, as far as reports indicate, he's even gone head-to-head with a few metahumans-some of them that have even given us trouble in the past-and won. I think this guy is ready for the big leagues."

"Rob, I think you're purposefully avoiding two questions." In response, Robin merely gave Cyborg a level look. The mechanical teen sighed. "If our boy is so good, how come we had to _literally_ pull him out of the fire today? He was half-dead by the time we got to him. If we'd been any later showing up …"

"I shouldn't have to tell you that in this business, Cy, we make enemies. If someone isn't trying to kill you, you're doing your job wrong. That's a _fact_. And the fact that the mob just firebombed half of Jump City's shipping district to get this guy-this _one man_-speaks volumes. Hell, Raven and Star have been assisting the fire department for the better part of four hours just trying keep the fire contained. This guy is a threat to every gang in the city. I'm talking the big fish we haven't even been able to _touch_. I'm willing to bet he knows something he's not supposed to. Something we can use." Robin tweaked his neck, and cracked his knuckles, clearly brimming with energy that refused to stay pent-up. As far as Cyborg knew, he hadn't left the room all day. "Satisfied?"

"Here's what's bugging me, Rob. Look at that map. No, really look at it." Cyborg motioned broadly with both his heavy arms. Robin did as he suggested, studying the map warily, as if he had missed some glaring mistake. "What does that look like to you?" Robin blinked, understanding what the mechanical teen meant.

"A man on a mission."

"Yes! He's obviously after something. And we don't know what," Cyborg explained, a brief silence blanketing the room. "or, do we?" he asked sheepishly after a moment, not knowing if Robin knew more than he had let on. When the junior detective finally spoke, it was quietly.

Defeated.

"Revenge" he almost mumbled, the word charging the air. "Seems likely." The leader drew a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his temple. Cyborg could practically hear his thoughts from across the room; _how could I be so stupid? I was so busy focusing on the 'hows,' I never thought to ask 'why?'_

"Well, look, Rob. We don't _know_ that. I mean, at the very least, don't we owe it to this guy to actually hear what he has to say?"

"We will. Assemble the team. They need to hear this. _All _of this." Cyborg nodded wordlessly, and exited the room, the doors sealing behind him with a _hiss_. Over the silence in the room, Robin's trained ears picked up the heavy footfalls of his teammate, his bulky frame maneuvering down the hallway. Eventually, the footsteps faded into nothingness, leaving Robin alone with his thoughts. He shuffled over to the coffee pot, novelty mug in hand, preparing to pour himself another. He did so, leaning casually against the counter, surveying the room. His eyes kept coming back to the neat pyramid in the middle of the room, catching the light just so from the lamp above. It was one of those old-school hanging lights like they had in interrogation rooms, the kind the designated bad cop would grab and angle into the suspect's face. Most people couldn't stand it. Most people couldn't take the spotlight on them like that. An accusing, unflinching light sizing you up. Judging you. And _everyone_ had something to hide. It was a strange feeling, alone, seeing that pile of money before him. He imagined what it'd be like had he been born into a different life, that much money in front of him. He hadn't shared what he'd learned of Brock's past. The stock he came from. The life he'd lead. Sure, they'd all faced tragedies, but this was different. And to think he'd been giving all that money away …

What was Brock looking for? Or, _who_?

...

Hey, there! Whaddaya think? I'm shipping to boot camp in two days, so don't expect chapter two soon. I have the story beats broadly outlined in my head, though. If this sucks, please let me know so that I won't waste anyone's valuable time. Thanks!

(will edit later, due to transfer errors)


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